


The Busker

by Babyyoumakemelesmiserable



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Busking, Cute, Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Subway, Trains, enjolras lost his job, railroad, waltz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 01:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12665793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babyyoumakemelesmiserable/pseuds/Babyyoumakemelesmiserable
Summary: From a prompt on Tumblr by an anon:heya! i ended up thinking about e and r slowdancing on the subway and wondered if you needed any fic ideas :) (i love your writing! and your blog!)





	The Busker

Grantaire struggled to keep his beanie on his head as the wind of the train going passed threatened to steal his hat. He gripped it tightly, still facing the train, watching each blue carriage pass in a blur. Black curls flew in front of his view, blocking the light from the overhead bulbs. The squeal of the brakes pierced Grantaire’s ears as the train slowed to a stop. 

He stepped back from the platform edge, back behind the yellow line, and leaned against a nearby concrete pillar. He tucked the stray curls behind his ears and watched the people cramped up inside the walls of the train. The doors slid open and crowds of people rushed out. Tall men in suits on the phone, mothers with screaming toddlers in tow, and Enjolras. 

Enjolras’ curly, golden hair streamed behind him, his face marked with lines of anger. His face was flushed, eyebrows furrowed, blue eyes ablaze. His expression lightened when he spotted Grantaire eagerly waiting for him, but the fire was still lit behind his gaze. Enjolras said nothing as he enveloped Grantaire into a warm hug. His breath hitched as he felt Enjolras’ racing heart on his own chest. 

People rushed up the stairs onto the streets of New York, too caught up in their own lives to notice the young lovers in an embrace. Grantaire never wanted to let go, but suddenly Enjolras was pulling away and holding his hands instead. Enjolras’ eyes were downcast, averted to the cracked pavement of the shitty subway. Grantaire ran a calloused thumb over Enjolras’ knuckles, trying to calm him.

“I was fired today.” The tenor voice echoed around the platform, the train having left the station moments ago. All that remained was the busker lightly playing guitar with a cap in front on him, and the weight in Grantaire’s stomach. Enjolras’ eyes never left the floor.

“What? Why? They’re losing a valuable asset, you were a brilliant journalist,” Grantaire stammered out, vague confusion and anger playing with his emotions.

“The boss wanted me to write an article how gun control doesn’t prevent shooting and suicides. I thought I was working for a progressive paper, not for one that wanted to keep society in the last century,” Enjolras explained, “I kicked up a fuss over it, because it’s something worth fighting about, some impressionable person may read it and spread the false word. False word that I created. When I refused the boss said I was only a hindrance on the company, and that I didn’t value the company’s true message. I was fired on the spot.”

“So you kneeled down and took it, Enjolras? That doesn’t sound like you,” Grantaire said, trying to reignite the spark in his eyes. Enjolras chuckled.

“He saw me out, watched me pack my belongings. I spat at his feet before walking out,” he replied. Grantaire choked on a laugh.

“That’s the man I fell in love with,” Grantaire said. He brought his hand up to Enjolras’ chin, lifting his head so their eyes met. His eyes were lifeless. Enjolras enjoyed his job, it was fairly simple work with a decent pay, so he had more time to focus on the ABC cause. 

Grantaire dropped Enjolras’ hands. He pulled out his wallet and made his way to the busker still huddled against a nearby concrete pillar. He dropped a note in the busker’s cap, which caught his attention.

“You wouldn’t happen to know any slow songs, would you?” Grantaire asked softly. The man’s brown eyes bore into Grantaire, before he nodded his scruffy head, a greasy lock of hair falling in between his eyes. The man starts playing smooth rhythms and melodies on the steel strings, tapping the body of the guitar as a beat. 

Grantaire gravitated back over to Enjolras, swaying in time to the music. He took Enjolras’ hands once more and wrapped them around his shoulders. Grantaire threaded his arms around Enjolras’ thin waist and began to pull Enjolras into the dance. The 3/4 timing bounced around the graffitied walls of he subway. Grantaire lead the waltz, twisting and turning with precise movements. 

Enjolras never took dancing lessons, but following Grantaire’s pace felt natural, like an instinct. Grantaire lead the duo around the empty platform, spinning and swirling and dipping the blonde man at every chance he got. 

“How romantic, a waltz in a subway,” Enjolras speculated.

“It’s a creative idea, you can’t deny my genius,” Grantaire replied. The duo smiled at one another.

The busker sped up, causing Grantaire’s moves to become quicker. Grantaire never stepped a toe out of line, always keeping a steady rhythm and his breathing steady. Enjolras was a different story. He occasionally stepped on Grantaire’s foot, or went to turn in the other direction. He was puffing and panting, wondering how Grantaire had so much stamina. Enjolras’ heart was fluttering in his chest, beating at his ribcage, trying to break free. 

The busker slowed down to the original pace, and Grantaire dipped Enjolras as the song finished. He gently placed his lips upon Enjolras, before pulling him back up to stand straight. Enjolras’ face was flushed bright red, he was trying to control his breathing, trying not to make it seem like he was unfit in front of Grantaire. He had barely broken a sweat!

Grantaire’s handsome grin spread out from ear to ear as he saw Enjolras try to catch his breath. He walked back over to the busker to give him another note.

“You play beautifully, mon ami. I hope to see you sold out around the world one day,” Grantaire commented. 

“Thanks, if I were your boyfriend I would be putting a ring on you real quick. You have some serious chemistry, ain’t like anything I’ve ever seen,” the busker grinned, showing chipped, rotting teeth. Grantaire shook the busker’s bony hand before walking back to his blonde angel. 

“What did he say?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow.

“He said that I’m the luckiest man alive.”

The next train pulled up to the platform, more empty than the last. The couple bordered, ready to reach their new destination, home.


End file.
